2077 Tour-The Memory Market

⸻ Fingers stick to the strings, beer in the air, heat on the walls. Someone yells from the back — I can’t make out the words at all. Every chord tastes older than the night we’re in, like it’s been played a thousand times and smuggled through a hundred skins. ⸻ Sell me back the nights we stole, wrap ‘em up in dust and gold. If you can’t keep the story straight, just give me what you’ve got. Sell me back the nights we stole… [glitch, half a bar repeats] …nights we stole. ⸻ Every face is a photograph, burnt into the air. Every song’s a currency, we trade it ‘cause we care. Some will fake it pretty, sell it clean and white — but I’d rather have the scratches, proof it bled all night. ⸻ Sell me back the nights we stole, wrap ‘em up in dust and gold. If you can’t keep the story straight, just give me what you’ve got. Sell me back the nights we stole… ⸻ wrap ‘em up in dust and gold. If you can’t keep the story straight, just give me what you’ve got. Sell me back the nights we stole — don’t you dare let it rot. ⸻ [